Trying to Sleep
by SuperWhoFangirl
Summary: Sam and Dean are on a hunt, but things become more complicated when Dean discovers hidden feeling for his best friend Castiel, and has a falling out with his brother Sam.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

 **Dean tries to sleep, but there are too many distractions.**

* * *

Dean looked up at Sam, who was busily typing away on his laptop, looking between a piece of paper on the table and the screen, and flipped back over in bed.

"Dude, could you go to bed! Some of us are trying to sleep around here," Dean growled, and pulled the sheets up, trying to dull the brightness of the monitor and the annoying punch of Sam's fingers against the keyboard.

"I think I found us a case," Sam said, not bothering to meet Dean's eyes, which were turned away anyways, buried in his pillow.

Sam finally got up from his chair by the motel rooms' desk, and ambling over to the door inquired, "You coming?"

"Sam, it's like 3 o'clock in the morning. I need my four hours," Dean complained exasperatedly.

Sam sighed, and stared across at Dean, lips pursed.

"Don't give me that look," Dean growled, and glared up at Sam.

"Fine, I'm going to get myself a coffee," Sam said, and slammed the door.

Coffee...At _3 am_?

Dean grunted and pulled himself from the bed, moving to flip off the light on the desk which was still littered with Sam's papers. Dean lay back and settled himself snugly within the cheap sheets of the grimy motel room bed. Just as he was falling back asleep, Dean heard the flutter of wings, and snapped his eyes open.

"Hello Dean," Castiel frowned, and began to walk toward the edge of the bed.

Dean groaned and bore his eyes into the ceiling. _Not again_. "Cas, can't you see I'm trying to sleep here? We've been over this."

Castiel hesitated before taking a step back, "Apologies," Castiel mumbled, and turned around as if to go.

"Cas, wait," Dean started, his voice suddenly urgent.

Surprised, Castiel spun to face Dean, eyebrows furrowed slightly with curiosity.

"I shouldn't have snapped at you," Dean exhaled and patted the bed next to him.

Castiel ambled over to the ruffled sheets of Sam's bed and sat down heavily.

"Talk to me," Dean said, his eyes wide and inviting.

Castiel glanced at Dean, his face tugging into a thoughtful smile before returning to his old stoic self. "Dean, I've been wondering..."

 **Ting.** "Hold that thought," Dean interrupted, grabbing his cell phone from the bedside table.

1 text message from Sam Winchester: **_Hey Dean, all is well. I've been looking into this case I told you about, and it seems like some serious vengeful spirit crap. I thought we could follow up on it at the library around 10 if you're down?_**

Dean settled his phone gently back onto the table.

"Who is that?" Castiel demanded, a little too urgently.

Dean looked at Castiel suspiciously. "Only Sam."

Looking relaxed, Castiel asked, "Aren't you going to answer your brother?"

Dean laughed, and absently traced his eyes over the phone. "I'd rather not. He should know better texting me so early. Not, well, no offense or anything. I was just trying to sleep, you know. Uh..."

Dean began to scratch his neck nervously, now embarrassed. God, why was he so flustered?

"I need a beer!" Dean announced, and presently pushed himself up off of the bed.

Castiel watched Dean as the beaten-up refrigerator door opened with satisfying suction.

"Want one?" Dean asked, his voice muffled as he held a beer above his head.

The refrigerator door banged shut with a resounding thud.

"No thank you," Castiel said quietly.

Dean plopped back down across from Cas and cracked open the beer, taking a long swig before gasping, "What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"How are you Dean?" Castiel questioned mistrustfully.

"Just peachy Cas! How about you?" Dean raised his eyebrows and gave Castiel a sarcastic smile.

"You're not fine Dean," Castiel protested, looking down at the fake-wood floor.

"Come on Cas, what's _really_ on your mind?" Dean squinted at Castiel and took a quick sip from his bottle.

The two gazed at each other for what seemed like eons, neither daring the other to speak.

"Well, this is awkward!" Dean chuckled; trying unsuccessfully to lighten the mood, and emptied the drink with a gulp.

"Goodbye Dean," Castiel finally said, and disappeared.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 **Sam and Dean start working a case, and Dean confronts Castiel about leaving so quickly.**

* * *

"Hey Sammy," Dean yelled out the window of his '67 Impala, circling around to park on the side of road parallel to the building.

Sam waved at Dean from the steps of Salem Public Library. "I've told you Dean, quit calling me that!"

"Sorry Sammy, couldn't hear you over the music!" Dean shouted, and turned up the blaring rock booming from the Impala's speakers.

Sam shook his head and sauntered down the steps to meet Dean, who was taking his time pulling the keys out of the ignition.

"How'd you even get here in the first place?" Dean shook his head. "Not to mention ditching me back there at the motel!" Dean crossed his arms slowly.

"I'm sorry man," Sam shrugged, "If you must know, I walked."

"What?" Dean huffed, "Since when do you take early morning strolls through the city?"

Sam rolled his eyes, and the two hiked back up through the doors of the library, walking side by side.

* * *

"What's the scoop?" Dean kicked his feet up onto the wooden library table and received a disapproving scowl from the old librarian sitting behind the Book Check Out and Return.

"Dean, can't you act like a normal person for just one second?" Sam snarled.

"Well excuse me!" Dean pulled his feet back down under the bench. "What's up with you lately? Leaving early in the morning to go who knows where, not to mention this new moody streak of yours."

Ignoring the question, Sam continued, "Victim died in his home last week, windows and doors locked, no signs of forced entry. His heart was ripped clear out of his chest, and get this," Sam turned his laptop so Dean could see, "No murder instrument found at the scene of the crime, and no fingerprints either."

"Why are you so convinced that this could be a spirit?" Dean glanced briefly at the article on the screen before checking out the busty intern pushing a cart of newly returned books past the the table.

Sam snapped his fingers, "Seriously Dean? Focus!"

"Right!" Dean cleared his throat, and his eyebrows narrowed into a stern expression.

"I was checking up on the history of the house," Sam spun the laptop around to face him, "Just 2 weeks earlier, a man by the name of Henry Williams died by self-inflicted gunshot wound. Apparently, this occurred right after he caught Mrs. Williams at it with the gardener when he came home from work."

"Wow," Dean cringed, his facial muscles tightening.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, "Right before the death of Sarah Williams, she had been on the phone with the gardener, Jim Jacobson. I was thinking we could interview the Williams family, and possibly swing by the Jacobson residence to check Jim's story."

"How do you know this isn't just one isolated incident?" Dean frowned. "You know, this could've ended with Sarah."

"Just making sure," Sam said flatly, eyes darting back down to the ground.

"Is there something you're not telling me?" Dean pressed, leaning in to make eye-contact.

Sam slammed his laptop shut and looked down at the table as if it were the most interesting thing he had ever seen.

"If you need to tell me something, now is the time!" Dean let his eyes rest upon the patch of wood Sam had been studying.

Sam groaned and pulled his hands down his face before letting them fall unceremoniously back into his lap.

"Have I ever told you about how I met Jess?" Sam blurted after much hesitation.

"And you're telling _me_ I need to focus?" Dean shook his head and grinned.

"Salem Massachusetts, March 15th, 2004," Sam shot back.

"Wait, I thought you met her at _Stanford_?" Dean exclaimed, throwing his hands up.

Sam shook his head vigorously before saying, "I took some time off before Stanford. After the big fight with Dad," Sam lowered his voice so that Dean had to get closer, "I just needed to figure some things out. You do realize it wasn't easy for me? Leaving behind you and Dad."

"That was the worst day of my life," Dean spat, his face betraying any emotion.

Sam exhaled, "God, won't you let me speak?"

"Oh, so it's all fine and dandy that while Dad and I were getting our asses kicked, you were having a little road-trip around the country with your girlfriend?" Dean hissed.

"It wasn't like that," Sam mumbled, "And if you're gonna be like that, I guess I'll just go ahead myself and look for leads."

"Fine then, go!" Dean yelled.

"SHHH!" The librarian eyed Dean with a look of pure malevolence as she wedged the book she was holding onto a shelf.

* * *

Dean collapsed onto his bed at the motel in a heap, not even bothering to take his shoes off.

"Hello Dean," Castiel announced.

"Casss," Dean growled, and buried his head into the pillow.

"What's wrong?" Castiel's voice was dulled by the cushion against Dean's ears.

"Please, Cas... Can't a man get some peace and quiet around here?" Dean said, rolling over to look up at Castiel.

"Dean, I need to tell you something," Castiel interrupted.

"You needed to tell me something 8 hours ago, and we all know how well that went!" Dean kicked his shoes off in a haphazard heap on the ground before retreating back under the covers.

"Dean, listen to me!" Castiel's shouted gruffly, his face tight with pain.

"No Cas, you listen to _me_. Why did you leave back there?" Now Dean was sitting up, his body shaking with exhaustion and anger.

"Dean," Castiel pleaded, hands clenched into fists.

"Screw you," Dean muttered, "I prayed to you Cas, every night! And now you decide to show up?"

"I need you," Castiel sighed, sitting down at the edge of Dean's bed.

Dean stopped, body rigid, eyes wide all of a sudden.

"Cas, what do you need?" Dean whispered breathlessly.


End file.
